


Dear Ari...

by ballen91



Category: Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe - Benjamin Alire Sáenz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 12:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19273291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballen91/pseuds/ballen91
Summary: Written in the perspective of Dante after his move to Chicago, in the form of letters as he figures out his feelings for Ari. I wrote this as an assignment for an English class, I hope you enjoy it!





	Dear Ari...

_“Dear Ari-“_

Dante began his latest letter, his pencil dangling listlessly from his hand, resting lightly on the page. Dante heaved a heavy sigh. He still wasn’t sure how he was supposed to live a full year without his best friend, much less how he could condense all his thoughts, his feelings, his deepest secret onto a page, or even a couple of pages. Doubts raced across his mind: _What if Ari forgets about me while I’m gone? What if we were never really friends and he’s laughing at me right this second, the joke of a boy that is Dante Quintana?_ Something in Dante’s chest tightened at the idea, an ache unlike any that he’d felt before. “Get it together, Dante,” he muttered, shaking his head and feeling the nothing where his long hair had once brushed across his shoulders. He’d already written Ari about his new haircut, of course, and school and the El and the party he went to. He even included the part about Emma, the girl he had kissed, though he was still unsure exactly what that meant to him. Sighing, he set the letter to the side and picked up his worn, tattered journal. Maybe he just needed to get his feeling on paper before he could put them on paper if that made any sense.

 

And so he wrote, the scratch of the pencil against paper suddenly less formidable now that the only eyes that would see his words were his own.

“ _To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure about anything anymore. Who am I, and what am I doing? I feel like the only person who knows anything about me anymore is Ari, so I guess my third question is what am I supposed to do without him? Ever since last week’s party, I’ve been more confused than ever. Emma seems like such a nice girl, sure, but I can’t shake the feeling that something was off when I was kissing her. It was almost an out-of-body experience, and the disconnect between what I think I should be feeling and what I am actually feeling is putting my head in a spin. The only person I want to talk to about this is Ari, but he doesn’t even respond to my “normal” letters, and I know that dumping this kind of stuff on him is just going to make him even more uncomfortable. The thing is, though, that not sharing these things is making ME uncomfortable. I’m sure my mom could draw some astute psychological conclusion from this, and yet I don’t want to share any of these feelings with my parents, either. Not just because of the drugs and alcohol thing, although I’m sure they’d freak out about that, but also because I’m just not sure what it says about me. Last night, I had another dream about Ari. I know, I know, I really seem like I’m obsessed… and maybe I am. In the dream, Ari and I were back in the bathroom of his house, just like the day I gave him a bath after the accident. Except in my dream, I was the injured one- just about my entire body was covered with casts, from top to toe. Ari was sitting on the toilet laughing at me as I struggled to do simple things, brushing my teeth, shaving, using the bathroom. As hard as I tried, as many times as I begged for help, he just sat there, laughing and laughing. “Silly Dante,” he said, “Don’t you know not to go running in front of moving vehicles?” This new, cruel side of Ari scared me in my dream, and I woke up crying. I’d like to believe that nothing like that would ever happen, but how can I be sure? Oh, how I wish Ari would write me back.”_

 

Dante sighed in frustration, putting his head on the desk. So much for working out his issues by journaling- now his heart pounded at the memory of his dream. He remembered how it had felt, having the most important person in his world laughing at him. A dull ache settled in between his eyes, and he sighed, standing up and moving to the bed. Maybe a nap would help clear his head. In any case, at least he would be able to escape his problems for a few hours.

_In his dream, Dante felt like he was flying. Legs flashing beneath him, bare feet slapping the pavement. He looked over, and there was Ari, as beautiful as ever, matching him stride for stride. They ran on together for what seemed like hours, without a sound besides the pounding of their hearts in time, the rush of their breath. And yet, the silence said more than words ever could. An immeasurable amount of time passed by, and suddenly, Dante realized they were in the desert. He looked over to Ari and saw the boy glance at the horizon, eyes sparkling as a thunder cloud rolled over the mountains towards them. As the parched earth was softened and renewed by the rain, he and Ari danced, feeling the warm drops rolling over their bodies, down their necks, tickling under their t-shirts. A crash of thunder and they made eye contact. Suddenly, Dante was kissing Ari, kissing his best friend, and in the kiss they shared, he felt every spark that had been missing between him and Emma. Thunder rolled, and the rain came down even harder, but nothing could break this kiss, could break the bond they shared._

With a start, Dante awoke, sitting straight up in bed. Even his dreams were conspiring against him, it seems. And yet, he could start to see the flashes of truth in them. After all, what other reason did he have to spend so much time thinking and dreaming about his best friend, if not for love?

 

 Dante could still remember clear as day the moment he first saw Ari, floating awkwardly in the swimming pool, alone. Something about him was drawn to Ari from that moment, something which Dante could still feel inside him, tugging him towards where Ari would be found. On that day, after sitting and watching the boy in his red swim shorts from a distance, Dante took a deep breath and steeled himself to go over. Who could have seen it coming, that that first conversation would set the stage for everything that was to come? Dante still couldn’t understand it himself. Weeks had gone by since his last letter from Ari. How could a boy he used to talk to every day suddenly become a ghost? Dante wondered if it was something he said. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned Emma, shouldn’t have mentioned the strange way that he felt about everything that had happened between them. He DEFINITELY didn’t want to mention the dreams he’d been having or the realization that was slowly starting to dawn on him. _I might be in love with my best friend._ He made up his mind to write another letter on a completely different topic, to hopefully lighten the mood between him and Ari and reignite their friendly rapport. But what could he write about? He settled on his favorite place in Chicago (besides the El, of course): the Art Institute.

            “ _Dear Ari-_

 _So it’s been a while, and you haven’t written me back. Don’t think I haven’t noticed, and that I don’t care, but it’s your prerogative, I guess. Anyway, I’ve been meaning to tell you about my second favorite thing here in Chicago: going to the Art Institute of Chicago. You can’t even imagine what it’s like inside, Ari. It’s the most incredible place I’ve ever been, and I could spend hours inside staring at the paintings. You’d love it. That I’m sure of. There’s this painting,_ Nighthawks by _Edward Hopper. It’s really famous, and it’s easy to tell why. I’m in love with that painting- it reminds me of you. Funny how a piece of art can break your heart. Funny how people can break your heart, too…”_

Dante stopped there, crumpling the paper in frustration, throwing it in the bin at his feet. Why couldn’t he just be normal? Why was this suddenly the only things he could think about? “Okay,” he sighed, “one more try,” He pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and tried to rewrite his own feelings, leaving out the pang that his heart felt every time he wrote Ari’s name.

 

Memories, flashing through Dante’s mind like streetlights through a car window at night. Swimming with Ari. Sketching Ari. Throwing their tennis shoes down the street, how beautiful Ari was when he laughed. The time Ari saved Dante’s life by jumping in front of a moving car with no concern for his own safety. How fragile and beautiful Ari had seemed when he let Dante bathe him, shave him after the accident. It all started to come together in Dante’s mind, piece by piece, specific moments falling into a larger scheme. It all came down to one thing: _Ari, Ari, Ari._ Dante was sure that he said that name in his sleep, that his parents could see it flashing across his eyes. The first person he thought of when he woke up, and the last person he thought of before he went to sleep. Like a whisper of wind on an otherwise still day, Aristotle Mendoza was, to Dante, unavoidably, unmistakably there _._ As hard as he tried to fight it, as much as he denied it, there was nothing else that could be said about his feelings for Aristotle Mendoza, who was undoubtedly the most beautiful human being he’d ever met. A soft sigh escaped his lips as Dante sat down to write another letter.

_“Dear Ari-_

_Do you remember the rain? I do. I remember the way it slicked down your hair, the way it fell in your eyes. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I think about you every time it rains here in Chicago. I think about your stormy eyes, how you always seem to be hiding something just beyond your horizon, just out of my reach. I wish you would open up to me, Ari, I really do. I wish you would let it wash over me like the rain washes over the desert in the summer. To me, rain is rebirth, it’s the start of something new and alive.  Is that what rain is to you, Ari? I can never tell with you. Do you remember walking back to my house as it poured, and even though you were sick, we decided to walk back, taking our sweet time? I don’t know about you, but I wanted nothing more than to live in that moment forever. I don’t think you realized how much you meant to me right then. Finally, I had someone I could share everything with, someone who could make a cold, rainy day seem like the most exquisite thing in the world. I don’t know if you realize it, Ari, but with you, everything is just that: exquisite. I love the rain because of you._

_Do you want to know something special about me, Ari? As it turns out, I’m absolutely crazy about you. I love everything about you. To me, you’re the sunshine on a cloudy day, the smell of wet pavement after it rains, the first time you jump into the pool on a hot summer’s day. To me, you are everything._

_All my love, Dante”_

Seeing this all laid out on paper for the first time, finally out in the open, Dante sighed with relief. This felt like an explanation for everything, all the confusion and sadness and hurt he’d felt since moving away from El Paso. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair in the way that his mom hated, taking a deep breath, before carefully folding the letter and sealing it into a new envelope with a kiss. He would hold onto it, for now, he thought, keep it until the time felt right to tell his best friend that he wanted something _more._ As he carefully tucked it away in the top drawer of his desk, he finally felt at peace. After all of this time, he thought, how could he have ever been confused about just how much he loved Aristotle Mendoza?

                                                                                                                 


End file.
